


You Did Run off to Hell Together

by CandyassGoth



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: A dinner where everyone sort of hates each other in some way, Basically, Bitterness, Freddie can't help herself, Freddie makes Will a sad Will, Gen, Hannibal has learnt a happy Will is a better Will, Hannibal is Hannibal, Hannibal makes Freddie make Will a Sad will, Implied Willford, It's not Will this time, Kidnapping, Killer Will, M/M, Manipulative Hannibal, Morally Grey Will, Passive-aggression, Possessive Hannibal, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, The force is too strong, The past makes Will a sad mongoose, Unhealthy Relationships, Will is a Cannibal, some more than others
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 15:44:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7514047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CandyassGoth/pseuds/CandyassGoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Our favourite Murder Husbands come across our favourite journalist in France three years after <em>dying</em>. Hannibal insists she joins them for a tête-à-tête.</p><p>Will thinks that's unnecessary and inaccurate.</p><p>Hannibal makes it necessary and accurate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Did Run off to Hell Together

**Author's Note:**

> Just a thing that happened in my head. It seemed like more fun in my head. 
> 
> And honestly, this is the only fandom I seem capable (and quite enjoy) of writing non-smutty fics for. It’s the weirdest. I want them painting the walls with new paint after painting it with someone’s blood and going to make lemonade and snacks together and also Abigail is there sneaking in to swop the paint buckets just to see if Hannibal would notice the difference between the two shades.
> 
>  
> 
> _I apologise for errors_

** You Did Run off to Hell Together **

 

Being who he was Will knew one too many ways to stalk a person. Flashing them with your camera and scurrying away noisily was not one of them. 

He almost didn’t bother to look. It could have been nothing, a child, an advertisement company, store insurance guys, a model-recruit agency—okay so could’ve also been many things. But all of them dissolved at the sight of bouncing red curls disappearing around the cereal aisle and nearly taking an armful of boxes with them. 

It was possibly the last thing Will had ever expected to see all the way in Lourmarin, aside from maybe Hannibal repenting for his...everything, and even that was a stretch.

“Have you seen anyone familiar in here?” he asked Hannibal who was scanning the pasta section, a different bag in each hand, squinting at the tiny French writing.

Hannibal looked up, and gave their isle a curtsey look. “No. Have you?”

“...I think I just saw Freddie.”

“Freddie Lounds?” Hannibal repeated in surprise. He tilted his head fractionally in thought, and gestured to put the ravioli bags back on the shelf. “Do you want me to go find out?”

Will shook his head. “No. I mean it could be nothing.”

“What made you think it was her?”

“Aside from the feeling of being watched by a hawk? I think she took a picture of me. And red hair. Hard to miss, unless I’m seeing things. _Again_...” 

Hannibal smirked and put a bag down in favour of cupping Will’s face. “You are quite well.” He said, and put the other bag in their cart. “If it is Miss Lounds, we should find out.”

Will shook his head more certainly this time. “I’ll go. You finish here. I still never choose the right sauce anyway...”

Hannibal let him go with a _suit yourself_ shrug.

It was comically easy to find her. Two steps out the store, five to the right on a hunch and Will spotted her scrambling into her motel room across the road. Her red hair and red jacket was like the neon beckon of a strip club to a miserable man, blaring and only promising more misery. It was definitely her, despite the improbability. Two seconds later and he would’ve missed her. Luck was not on her side, while Will lived with the Devil’s luck. Maybe the Devil himself.

Will sighed and waited in the parking lot until Hannibal arrived with two bags of groceries, keeping a watchful eye. He opened the trunk of their car for him, and gestured to the motel.

“It’s her. Saw her enter the top middle door.”

“She won’t be there long now that she’s seen.” Hannibal said as they loaded their groceries.

“What do we do? She’d got my picture. Maybe yours.”

“Let’s pay her a visit. It’s been a while.”

Will groaned at Hannibal, and then at Freddie. He didn’t know why he still let it bother him. Hannibal’s prey provoked their deaths (Will had insisted, after many long philosophical debates), so it was no surprise in the least that Freddie would provoke her own. But not today dammit.

“Hannibal, no. We’re not going to just murder her in her hotel room. No murder. Especially not _today_.”

Hannibal shut and locked the trunk. “Fine. But we should drop in anyway before she disappears.”

“All right.” Will waved for Hannibal to go first, exasperated, and kept tight to his heels. “…And no mutilation either.”

“That depends entirely on her. But it’s your call.”

The door was flimsy, it had no reason to be a barrier in this sweet little town, and frankly Freddie should’ve known better. Will expected her to have climbed out of the bathroom window by now, second floors weren’t that high when being chased by two (by her definition) psychopaths. Instead she trusted a motel door would keep Hannibal Lecter at bay as she flew around her room throwing things into her suitcase. Hannibal took the round handle in one carefully curled palm, looked around once, and then shouldered the door open. A screw hit the floor and wood chipped loudly, an attractive backdrop as they barged in and watched Freddie stumble back.

“God, you’re alive—no! Stay back!”

She abandoned her packing to dive for the gun on her nightstand. She should’ve been holding it in the first place, not the cell phone she threw on the bed to free her hands. 

Hannibal launched calmly after her. It wasn’t much of a fight. He smacked the gun from her hands as soon as she managed to lift it, stealing away her stillborn relief and locking her thin wrists in one broad palm. 

Will glanced at the phone. Jack’s contact was up, but it had yet to be dialled. He wondered what would happen if he made the call himself.

Hannibal swung Freddie around to Will’s side so he could bend and pick up the gun, restraining her easily as she fought and screamed. Will got tired of it first, and slammed the broken door shut to contain her voice.

“God, Freddie, calm down.”

“Let me go!” She insisted, kicking at Hannibal’s legs.

“Miss Lounds, you’re the only one reacting like a beast.” Hannibal frowned, drawing her back to push her into the corner of the room. He stood in front of the bathroom, and Will manned the path to the front door, exits blocked. Left with little else to do, Freddie jumped onto the bed and pushed against the headboard.

“I will scream this building down.”

“And you’ll be putting those poor souls in danger too. Just calm down.” Will sighed, irritably. Why did this have to happen _today_? It was _Will-Appreciation_ day. Hannibal had hired a masseuse and everything—not that he couldn’t do the massage himself, it was just fancier like that, and left more time for Hannibal to set up the next activity. “What are you doing here?”

“What am _I_ doing here? You should be—should be—”

“Dead, yeah. And we’d like to keep it that way.” He paused for effect. “...So, where is the picture?”

“What?”

“Think carefully before lying to us, Miss Lounds.” Hannibal said seriously.

“That picture you took of me? Did you send it to Jack? Or is it on your blog already?”

“That would be very rude.”

“I didn’t do anything with it!” she shouted, her big eyes wilder than when she found a nice juicy story to sink her teeth into. Will savoured the sight of it, it’d been three years since he’d last seen her and she was far from one of his favourite people. Some days it took digging to remember why he’d faked her death in the first place.

Other days he remembered it wasn’t about her, but about him.

“I panicked, okay? I don’t know what I would’ve done with it. I just couldn’t believe my eyes. And I ran back here and starting packing and now—”

“You didn’t answer my first question. What are you doing here?”

“...I’m on vacation.” A flash of the old Freddie went across her face. “And _you_?”

“Just passing through. I rather like the neighbourhood.” Hannibal said in place of Will, and Freddie relaxed fractionally against the headboard as she paused to look harder at them, if possible.

“...I knew you two had survived. In my gut. I knew.”

Hannibal shook his head in thought. “I don’t recall seeing that on your blog.”

“Jack forbade me from posting it. Called it an insult to Will’s memory. Not finding your bodies gave him enough nightmares. Gave everyone nightmares.”

Will looked down at the thought of Jack. “Does he suspect?”

“No.” She sounded dubious, but didn’t alter her answer. She did stare at Will a little more than necessary until he was forced to look up. 

“…He mourned you, Will. Jack mourned.”

“I imagine he did. But I’ve Will safe and sound.” Hannibal said, looking proud at the fact. Will didn’t begrudge him that. He _was_ well taken care of, especially compared to the old days. “How is everyone? Has Chilton recovered? How is Alana?”

Will spent days trying not to think of them, all of them. All it brought were painful memories and regrets. Hannibal rarely brought it up, he knew what it did to Will, and a happy Will was a co-operative Will.

Freddie frowned, probably wondering why she was being led into conversation rather than death. Then again she didn’t know Hannibal usually conversed with his food instead of playing with it. It was more mature that way, wasn’t it? Or it _would_ be, if Hannibal didn’t end up making it into a game anyway, like the great big sadistic cat he was, another thing Will didn’t quite share. He could understand, but he didn’t share it no matter how deep Hannibal dug.

“…Chilton is coping. I don’t look into Alana much. The things that made her interesting are no longer around.”

“Is she still with Margo? Their son must be big now. Let’s hope he’s more Alana than Mason.”

Will sighed. “Hannibal.”

Freddie let out a deep breath. “…What is going to happen here?”

“We’re not going to hurt you.” Will said quickly, though it didn’t hold much conviction and they could all hear it. He knew Hannibal would consult him first before attempting to kill her, but _that_ part was the problem. Freddie held little merit and it wouldn’t take much convincing to gain permission (or pardon, rather) to end her. He was still morally grey enough to know not trust himself entirely anymore, much to Hannibal’s delight.

“I know exactly how the Chesapeake Ripper kills his victims. I don’t want to die like that. Especially not with _two_ of them.”

“Will said no murder or mutilation, so no murder or mutilation.” If Hannibal looked proud before, he looked pompous now, and Will just barely kept from rolling his eyes. 

Freddie scoffed weakly at them. “I don’t believe it. You have him pussy-whipped.” she said to Will.

Will curled his lip, but Hannibal just chuckled. Freddie was doing her own convincing then. 

“Hardly. You’re only still alive because you mean something to our history, not because I bat my eye lashes and said ‘please don’t do it’. If you were just another person you’d have been dead five seconds after he walked in the room no matter what I said.”

She looked between them cautiously, breathing deeply through her nose. 

“…What is the nature of this relationship?” she asked snootily as if she already knew the answer, pretending she wasn’t as scared as she was. 

Will snorted sarcastically. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Hannibal made a contemplating sound. “Why shouldn’t she? She did call it before anyone else. You should join us for dinner this afternoon. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

Both Will and Freddie looked at Hannibal, various levels of incredulity passing across their faces. 

“…You’re kidding right? No one’s forgotten what you serve.” Freddie said.

“No one’s forgotten you’re vegetarian.”

She laughed softly in disbelief, trying again to disappear into the headboard behind her. “So this is a thing now? You two travelling the world and committing murder, mutilation and midnight cannibalism together? Or is Dr. Lecter the sole breadwinner?”

Will sighed and idled in a circle to keep his cool. Hannibal shrugged casually. 

“If I find someone particularly revolting, I have Will for company. Everyone else, I take a few hours to myself, Will stays at home.”

“Sounds disturbingly domestic.”

“It is.”

“So it’s basically—”

Will shook his head. “Don’t say it.”

“—murder husbands. I really did call it.”

“ _God_.”

Hannibal hummed, unperturbed. “I miss your blog, Freddie. Especially the articles pertaining to Will and myself. If we weren’t dead, I’d gladly give you all the sordid details you want.”

“But then you’d have to kill me.”

Will smiled sourly at both of them. “So maybe dinner isn’t a good idea. _Temptations_ among us all.”

Hannibal continued like he hadn’t heard, smiling charmingly. Perhaps hungrily. Will tried not to notice let he been drawn in. 

“I insist. It’s been too long.”

Freddie shrunk. “…Look, I won’t tell anyone. _I swear_. I value my life.”

“You also value your work. It’s what made you so good, elevated you where others failed. I imagine you are still good, and if we don’t whet our curiosity now you’ll look for answers eventually. If rumours spread of us you will be the source, and I will be very upset.” Hannibal paused, but when both Freddie and Will remained silent he continued triumphantly.

“So dinner, I think. We can discuss this like adults.”

Will threw her jacket at her when she failed to ignite his pity. “Come on.”

 

The drive was awkward. Will sat in the back with Freddie, shifting between staring alternatively at her and Hannibal through the rear-view mirror. Hannibal smiled secretly to himself the entire way, frowning every so often, and Freddie surprisingly behaved herself. Will had geared himself for a fight, a desperate person possessed great strength when fighting for their lives (and he hadn’t forgotten the struggle she’d given him the last time), but the journey remained scuffle free. She sat quietly on her side, never blinking as she watched the scenery pass, probably tracing her way back to town. Will fingered her phone in his pocket, a mere glance and dial from everything he’d left behind. It was tempting, but right now he had Freddie’s life to worry about even as his every nerve bristled irritably at her presence.

Their current house was just outside of town, each house in the small suburb surrounded by trees and lush. There was lots of privacy, and the area was still very antiquated. No one was there to notice them return home, no one was there to notice Freddie. Hannibal had killed a young man right there on their property a week after moving in, no one had heard a thing.

The house itself was small, more of a cottage, but Will liked it. It was warm and cosy and gave him less nightmares than having to peer into long corridors and empty rooms at night. Hannibal made do for Will’s sake, though he had made sure to fill it with the best seeing as they weren’t just _passing through_. It’d be a few months before they moved on again.

Freddie remained admirably brave as they escorted her inside, Hannibal at the door, Will idling as the tail. If she darted, they’d catch her. Her shoes wouldn’t do much for her around here. She held herself as they entered and Hannibal proceeded to give them the unnecessary tour. 

The house wasn’t _home_ , it lacked personal touches despite Hannibal’s decorating and the lingering history of past owners, and Freddie kept her lips shut until they reached the end of the tour in the modest kitchen, where a pot had been left to simmer, and half of their planned dinner was already prepared across the counters. Hannibal had shrugged out of his jacket in the living room, and rolled up his sleeves now as he moved to wash his hands and get back to cooking. It was just the pasta left, and everything could be put together. 

Will sighed again at the interruption of their day, he had fully expected to come back, curl up on the couch with their iPad and have Hannibal whip up hot chocolate after dragging him out there for groceries. But it was his own fault, he’d spoilt Hannibal, and now the man disliked _food shopping_ without him, even if Will was just there to agree predictably and praise Hannibal’s craftiness for the culinary. 

“Rather quaint for your tastes, Dr. Lecter.” Freddie said, clearing her throat.

“Will prefers to be subtle.”

“Will, Will, Will… What Will wants matters?”

Hannibal looked at her as though she was slow. 

“It wouldn’t be a very healthy relationship if it didn’t.”

Freddie gestured to Will’s hand, which he pointedly slipped into his pocket with a purse of his lips at her forwardness. 

“Is it official? You’re wearing rings.”

“No. They’re just symbolic. Neither of us has ever conformed well to labels. Why start now?”

“Because labelling Will Graham on official documents as _yours_ is surely something that would excite you. Even if under false titles.”

Hannibal stopped altogether, ladle in the pot, and looked up just to smile mischievously. “You got me there.” 

Will sighed through his nose and broke out a bottle of wine. Freddie made a face at as he poured for each of them, disregarding the branding and sealed cork as proof it wasn’t of Hannibal’s own brewing, but she accepted it and eventually took a little sip after Will had downed two one after the other. Hannibal took a sip of his own around dealing with the boiling pasta and a hunk of _ham_ he pulled out the fridge.

It was all very misleading.

Freddie cleared her throat again and smiled as politely as she knew how. It was bitterly transparent of course. Will didn’t need to look at her face to know so. She was in grave danger, the underlying bitterness in her expression was to be expected for one Freddie Lounds. She’d had a fair share of confrontations with psychopaths on her belt to parade a little buck. Who knows, maybe her last wishes were to go down having the last word.

She took a second sip before opening the flood gates. 

“So, can I ask questions? Or am I just listening?”

“Ask away.” Hannibal said as he heaved the stew pot off the stove and deposited it on the counter besides it. The kitchen was a far cry from what they were used to, but Hannibal was as resourceful as ever and never did complain. It would be amusing to witness Hannibal is such humbled settings—in fact it had turned Will on during their first stay in a quaint dwelling—but what Hannibal lacked in residence he made up for in ten dollar peas and three-hundred dollars worth of wine. 

“Just remember, Freddie,” Will butt in, raising a brow at her as if she was a sly child getting her first warning for sticking gum under the tables, “None of it leaves this house. I’m pretty sure you can comprehend why that would be a _very_ bad idea. Because if it gets out no amount of money or fame is going to be worth _that_.” He looked pointedly at Hannibal who smiled at the food, looking more like a shark than a sophisticated host. Will poured her some more wine as compensation.

“...I don’t _want_ to end up on Tattle. So yes, I understand.”

“Smart girl.” Hannibal said.

“Remote visuals report you fell off the cliff after murdering Francis Dolarhyde, but Jack and Alana believe Will _pushed_ you over. Both of you, seeing as the monster met his match, and I’m not talking about Dolarhyde.”

Hannibal looked at her, and nodded once. He was slicing the meat into neat little blocks for both the ravioli and the stew.

“Yes he did.”

“Did it not occur to you to drown him?”

Hannibal paused, and both eyes behind him fell to the knife, but it remained where it was. When Hannibal spoke he spoke with conviction, and just a dash of pride. 

“Will went with me. Whatever happened, we’d be together. Life or death. Fate chose life, and Will remained by my side long after getting to shore. I could’ve killed him. He could’ve killed me. Either of us could’ve deserted the other. But here we are.”

Will shrugged in agreement and drank noisily, toasting to another minute of a bloodless afternoon. “I fully expected to be drowned.”

Freddie arched a brow and aimed it at Will, leaning against a counter with more sass than Will thought she should have. He felt like he was worrying for her more than she was herself. Or maybe it was the perfect amount. After all she was still in one damn piece. How the hell had she managed that, out of all of them? Jack, Alana, Molly… Chilton still haunted him, and Hannibal hadn’t even targeted him personally. Then again, that one was Will...

“Is that why you stayed? Did you feel you owed him? Or did you just find your place in the world?”

Will glared at her, feeling childish as he mentally stomped his foot and hunched his shoulders up to his ears. “Next question.”

It didn’t bother her in the least, as sociopathic as ever. “Where have you been since that day? Did you leave the states immediately?”

“The damage to our bodies was severe, it took us a couple months before we could leave. From there we travelled here and there between the smaller towns of Spain, Italy and now France. I’ve been showing Will the sights, neither of us are getting any younger, and if it were up to Will he would become a hermit.”

“I’m not _that_ bad.”

“He worries too much.”

“You haven’t been back since?”

“Nope. Not once.” Will answered this time, smiling downcast into his wine glass so not to smile at Freddie. Hannibal may be the predator in room, but she was the scavenger waiting to pick at the carnage and weakness left behind.

“You must miss home.” She said.

Hannibal turned to face them, wiping his hand on a dish towel. 

“Will’s home is with me.”

“I do miss it. Some days. Other days not so much.”

“Which days are those?”

“…The day I remember everyone I—” Will sighed and shook his head. “Next question.”

Freddie continued with little love lost, perhaps some gained and she gestured her glass between them. 

“The nature of your relationship. Three years is a long time, especially to be alone together, no one else _but_ each other. I can’t help but wonder.”

“Wonder if we’re sexually intimate?” Hannibal asked, stoic as ever. 

Will tried his best not to flush as the truth bubbled in his chest. He’d spent many hours wondering how he’d ever confess to the people he knew, _if_ he ever came across them again. Albeit he had never decided upon a route, it had been easier not to. Hannibal gave him enough to worry about already.

“Yes. Do you blame me?”

“Do you want to answer, Will? Or shall I?”

Will sighed and snubbed his shoe into the wooden flooring the way Hannibal disapproved of, biting at the skin inside his bottom lip.

Freddie smirked. “You know your silence is an answer, right? Aside from the schoolboy blushing.”

“I don’t blush.” He snapped, and looked up with apathetic defeat—what did it matter? One nod to Hannibal and the confession would never leave the room. “But, fine, yes.”

Freddie made a sound as though it were actually a surprise to her, tongue curling as her eyes glazed over in thought. “Yes you’re sexually intimate?”

Will stared blandly. 

“Yes.”

“It must’ve been a difficult transition for you, a previously known straight male. Are you exclusively inclined to Dr. Lecter, or have you come to appreciate your fellow man folk?”

“…Exclusive.”

“And how long have you been hitting that, Dr. Lecter?” Freddie asked Hannibal, her expression cocky and dare Will think it, ru—wait no

“Did you just imply I’m the catcher?” he asked in a jumble of surprise and shock and badly concealed guilt. He noticed Hannibal glance at them, pouring diced mushrooms into a mixing bowl with the blocks of _ham_. Freddie didn’t seem to, looking at Will as if she had one up on him.

“Aren’t you? It wouldn’t be the first time Dr. Lecter’s stuck things in you.”

Will blanched this time. He couldn’t even find the place to be grateful when Hannibal took the liberty of answering. He turned around to face her, not needing to reach for a knife to look exactly as threatening as he already was. 

“You are being vulgar now, Miss Lounds. I assure you any relations between Will and I are entirely consensual. You insult Will suggesting otherwise, and that is extremely rude.”

“I’m sorry. I just meant that…” She deflated slightly, chin and shoulders dropping as she looked between them, seeming to remember exactly where she was. “I’m sorry.”

“ _Whatever_ we do is consensual, just to be clear.” Will added, trying not to hiss or spit or make a commotion. Of course that’s what Freddie would insinuate, as if being labelled psychotic wasn’t an insult enough, but a psycho’s kept whore too.

“A dance of equals. I can imagine it.” If she was being patronising, she was incredibly good at it, and Will felt condescended anyway.

“God, stop trying to imagine it!”

Hannibal walked between them to sever the tension, pulling some plates from the cupboard above Will’s head. Freddie froze where she stood a few feet away, but Hannibal made no reach for her, or Will, and returned to his task.

“To answer you, it’s actually only been a few months. I still had a lot of charming and courting to do.” 

“...Was it with—”

Will interrupted her irritably, her train of thought visible to anyone within a mile. “It wasn’t all as gruesome as the befores, no. I _do_ like watches and wine as much as the next man. Not that I asked to be courted, but it was a better suggestion than all the anatomical art.”

Hannibal smirked smugly. “Jack would know our work the moment he sees it. Any gifts of that calibre are destroyed soon upon erection.”

Freddie gave a single nasal snort in amusement and thought, swirling her dwindling wine. “All that work gone to waste. You’re never tempted to leave something behind?”

“I’m tempted to leave you behind. But the repercussions of such are far more troublesome than the reward. What matters is that Will sees it and enjoys it.”

Freddie froze again, and despite how much Will enjoyed the look on her face, that was all he felt he’d enjoy of her today. He was supposed to be enjoying a list of other things right now, dammit.

He took the least amount of steps in her direction needed to offer her a refill of wine.

“He’s just making an example.” He said, failing at both casual and comfort.

She accepted the sad offer, and took a gulp as she mulled over her next question. Thankfully, it wasn’t as unprofessional as Will dreaded. 

“…Dr. Du Maurier went missing soon after you two did. Was that you?” she asked Hannibal.

“Who else would it be?”

“My thoughts exactly. But I know you two had history. You did substitute Will with her when you fled to Italy. Is she alive or…?”

“She’s dead.” Will said, squeezing the half-empty wine bottle.

“Only Will could truly match me, but I wasn’t going to leave Bedelia to someone else. It’s better this way.”

Freddie smiled tightly, a slight flicker of feeling disturbed going across her face. Hannibal didn’t see it with his back turned, and Will pretended he didn’t either.

“Possessive of what’s yours. I suppose even Dr. Du Maurier knew how it would end for her.”

“She certainly did.” Hannibal said shortly, as he gestured to the small dining table in their small dining room. Will was surprised to see their meals prepared already, and gestured with his head for Freddie to follow him and take a seat. It was a small table fitting four people, and Will chose to sit between Hannibal and Freddie who would sit across from each other.

Hannibal followed after with their plates. He served Freddie first, then Will and then himself. Will put the bottle on the table from his lap, a brief moment lingering in which he thought of Bedelia. She’d drank most of her days away to keep herself going when Hannibal had her, having bitten (ironically) off more than she could chew. He hated how his stomach warmed pleasantly at the thought of eliminated competition, macabre proof that he and Hannibal were truly a unique match.

The plateful was beautiful, but Will had long lost his appetite, and sighed again at Freddie’s intrusion. But before Hannibal could toast, taking the bottle from him to refill their glasses, Freddie shifted in her seat, hands folded in her lap and spoke nonchalantly—about as nonchalantly as Abel Gideon had when causing trouble.

“Jack was quite possessive of Will.”

Will stilled, a tiny skip of his heart spreading around just enough guilt at the name to make him fidget.

Hannibal shrugged casually as he took his seat, if by casually you meant like a king to his inferiors. “Jack used and abused everything Will had to offer. It’s his loss.”

“Strange. He always did treat Will special.”

“Will _is_ —” Hannibal stopped short, and he looked up together with Will, utensils lifting and falling. He narrowed his eyes minutely in thought as she forked a baby tomato off her plate and popped it in her mouth, imitating his previous casualness. Will would’ve laughed at the audacity if he wasn’t currently trying to stare through her head and see the ghost of Jack.

“Are you implying that Jack was interested in Will other than in a professional sense? Because if so I did not see it.”

“Of course not. You have a god complex, and everyone thought Will was a dangerous, unstable mess. Why would Jack of all people dare be interested in our favourite profiler?”

“I don’t do that anymore,” Will growled, face hot as Hannibal glanced at him. “And I’d appreciate it if you stopped lying.”

“It’s not a lie—”

“It’s your version of the truth. That basically makes it lies.”

She pursed her lips, and turned back to her food. “No one believed me about you two.”

Hannibal stilled again just as he was about to start eating, and Will watched worriedly as his fist tighten around his fork.

“Why tell us anyway?” Will asked irritably. It was like she HAD a death wish. Maybe the call to _work_ was just too strong, Hannibal was right. She was nothing if not dedicated and driven, and utterly _shameless_. He sat back as the situation finally dawned on him, the sky darkening, the wind picking up.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you knew, Will.” She smiled coyly at him. “What with your…ability.”

Will had had the smallest suspicions, it was so long ago, all quickly forgotten when Hannibal took over his life. It was hard to notice anything after that that wasn’t Hannibal-related. Once or twice through the years, even before Hannibal’s incarceration, Will had wondered what would’ve happened if he’d given Jack more than half of himself…. Usually they ended up very, very dead.

Will glowered at her, irritable and impatient and incredulous at her risky prowling. 

“Excuse me for not noticing Jack’s feelings while I was spiralling towards insanity thanks to my _murder-husband_.”

“Yes, Dr. Lecter did keep you on a tight leash.”

“No doubt more heartache for Jack.” Hannibal said, as if that dispelled any power Jack’s memory held. It didn’t, Jack had been the light at the end of the very dark tunnel that had been Hannibal, a light that Will thought dimmed a long time ago, but he could still remember. He didn’t know if it was a comfort or just more pain.

Will scrubbed his hands over his face, hands shaking. “Next question.”

Freddie seemed to notice what she’d done, and seemed to change her mind at the last second.

“Do you still have dogs, Will?”

Will looked at her tiredly, too surprised to _show_ surprise, and eventually shook his head when he couldn’t determine for what ends she’d asked the question.

“We move too much. I usually just…take in strays for a few days, and drop them at the local shelter once they’re fed up. I don’t get attached anymore.”

“Dr. Lecter doesn’t get jealous over dogs does he?” she asked, in a bad attempt at being playful. It still sounded insulting, she held no respect for either of them as people, and while Will didn’t care, he didn’t appreciate being humiliated with the fact. Or rather, with the fact that Hannibal had gotten exactly what he wanted after everything Will had gone through, the sex-stuff included. Not from Freddie Fucking Lounds.

“Dogs are loyal and honest, especially to those they admire. Unlike people,” Hannibal said before Will could chew out a retort. “If I would allow anyone to be with Will, it would be dogs.”

“You seem more like a cat person.”

“And you seem like a rat person.”

Will snorted loudly into his plate, covering his mouth at the last second to catch his mouthful. Hannibal sat back as if he’d said nothing, forking a creamed block of _ham_ into his mouth while Freddie sat back and took the insult silently. She finally looked at their food, eyes lingering on the meat.

Will took the reprieve to pretend she wasn’t there and started on his own food. It was mouth-watering, divine and as always a work of art even with the modest resources. A sound of appreciation escaped Will, but there was no pretending otherwise. He didn’t want to insult Hannibal either just on account of Freddie. His _husband_ was behaving himself and it’d been a while since their last disagreement. It was a good run, but no matter how much he tried to concentrate on his food, he could feel it all rotting away as Freddie stared at them.

He could almost _hear_ all the buzzing in her head, not to mention the racing of her heart and pumping of her blood. Hannibal could most likely smell her fear and trepidation. It seemed she’d given up bothering to eat, perhaps her sanity finally caught up with her. Will ate faster as if to prolong the moment before she said something that would flip the switch to the calm falsity in the room.

Will hadn’t eaten enough when she opened her mouth again.

“…Abigail…”

“I’d rather not talk about Abigail.” Will insisted immediately to his pasta, skewering two mushrooms.

Freddie ignored him, and turned her sour gaze on Hannibal. “You falsely pleaded insanity so I have to assume everything you confessed to was a lie. Why did she really have to die?”

Will put his fork down altogether. There went the calm—on his side at least. He looked at Hannibal, inwardly trembling whereas Hannibal look at her with forced nonchalance, as if Freddie were an invalid challenging him to chess. 

“Besides here with us do you think Abigail could’ve ever found a family to accept her? A life where she wouldn’t have to forget who she truly is, but embrace and make peace with it?”

Beneath the superior tone Will heard a sliver of annoyance. It was well concealed, but Will knew Hannibal well by now, and he sat back cautiously. 

“Hannibal—”

“In parallel, did you see her dying any other way than the way her father intended?”

Will slammed both fists on the table. “ _Hannibal_!”

Freddie flinched and closed her eyes, pressing back into her seat as if she would become invisible and disappear, or at least escape the line of fire across from her. Hannibal finally looked at him, pursing his lips and letting out a heavy sigh through his nose. He held Will’s gaze next, face unreadable, while Will was sure he looked like about ready to stab someone through the hand and hit wood.

“I was betrayed and hurt. So I hurt back.” Hannibal said, to Will more than Freddie. It was a topic they’d been over, of course, but it still hurt. Only this time it was Freddie’s doing rather than Hannibal’s, and Will acknowledged it by blinking away his glower and lifting his face as Hannibal reached to cup it. Hannibal pulled him in and kissed him chastely, the tenderness in it devastatingly consuming, relaxing Will’s straining fists into more human-like form.

“I’m sorry.” Hannibal murmured just for him. 

Will nodded, sitting still as Hannibal kissed him again. 

The pecks quickly turned heavy, Hannibal sliding his hand back to thread in Will’s ever unruly hair. Will let him at first, leaning over as Hannibal tugged him closer between breaths to taste his mouth, flavours of food and wine shared between them, not unlike many of their evenings after so many years of pining on both their parts, Hannibal’s far longer than his of course. But as good as it was, Will’s hands stung from his outburst, and it reminded him who was watching them.

He turned his face self-consciously, gut warming as Hannibal nipped his bottom lip to draw him back in. “Hannibal…”

Hannibal forced two more wet kisses on him before breaking away, a smug smirk on his face as he looked over every inch of Will’s face. 

“I never get to gloat for old friends. Humour me.”

Will kissed him back once more with the intention to end it, glancing in Freddie’s direction where she sat still as stone. “I’m sure she doesn’t need visual confirmation.”

“I disagree. Miss Lounds has always been a greedy mite. I’d think she’d love to see as much as she can. Wouldn’t you?”

They looked at Freddie, Hannibal’s fingers still in Will’s hair. They moved in a comforting circle, softening Will’s back each time it threatened to arch. It was a lost cause, of course, Will couldn’t relax with Freddie staring at them in barely concealed disgust. Intrigue and morbid curiosity too, Hannibal was almost always right, but _disgust_. At what in particular Will didn’t know, but perhaps Hannibal did by the way he smiled again, bitter and empty as he leaned in again. 

Will pulled away. He wasn’t going to be used like that to make someone uncomfortable. 

“Enough. Stop it.” He mumbled, squeezing Hannibal’s wrist as he pushed his arm back, giving him a single glance to communicate his refusal was out of discomfort rather than a lack of desire for him. Hannibal pursed his lips but withdrew, and in a way Will should’ve predicted, turned towards Freddie, all business. He looked angry. He _looked_ angry. Hannibal rarely looked anything authentic around anyone that wasn’t Will.

“Miss Lounds it’s been nice to have you for dinner after so long. And yet, I still don’t know what you taste like.”

As Will sighed, rubbing his hands through his hair in regret, Freddie swallowed and raised her chin with a false but admirable bravery.

“Who _is_ being tasted tonight?”

“As a matter of fact tonight’s meal is thanks to Will. A local blasphemous predator that was targeting nuns. Will did this lovely town a great favour, and blessed us with flavour.” Hannibal smirked minutely at his joke, glancing over her as he always did when surveying a menu. “Which reminds me, I had a schedule planned for this afternoon and it did not make plans for a guest. I’m afraid there will be no dessert for you.”

The atmosphere shifted dramatically. Freddie became smaller, her strength waning as her face betrayed her. Will couldn’t find the reason to move just yet.

“…Please.” She breathed pathetically.

It was a long heavy moment before Hannibal replied. 

“I am not going to hurt you.” Hannibal said as he sat back, finishing the last of his wine. “That wouldn’t be very poetic in the scheme of things. _Will_ , however,” he looked at Will, face unreadable again even as Will stared with a twitch of dread in his brow. “has a circle to complete. Bedelia was my lose end. I think you’re Will’s.”

Freddie sat, rightfully afraid, watching as the men seemed to have a visual debate with each other. Will shook his head minutely, hands curling back into fists, but it didn’t dissuade Hannibal. He was like stone, face hard and hands harder. 

It wasn’t a common thing in their household. Like Will had changed so had Hannibal and Will had grown used to seeing life on his face rather than that impenetrable brick wall. Even during their hunts, lust and hunger and content were prominent and (after years of getting used to it) attractive sights that Hannibal trustingly gave over to him.

But this, this reptilian gaze, it was a creature from their past, crawling to the surface to meet another with unfinished business. It had always burned Hannibal, the faking of Freddie’s death. Will still felt guilty despite knowing he didn’t need to. 

“Tell me, Will,” Hannibal said with a small mirthless smile, “What was the one thing you had her promise in return for telling our story to the public?”

Will breathed deeply, growing as confused as he was upset. Freddie didn’t seem to be breathing at all. 

“…Abigail.”

“What about Abigail?”

“To not write about her.”

Hannibal nodded, and got up. Freddie flinched as he moved passed her and collected the wrapped parcel on the end table by the archway. Will hadn’t even see it, nor where it’d come from. He handed it to Will with the smallest prompting before sitting down again. 

Will stared the simple beige wrapping paper, pulse rising when he realised it was a book.

“I had intended to give this to you a year or two from now, but it would be silly to waste this opportunity.”

“What is it?” Will asked stonily, with little desire to hear the answer. But he already knew it—he just _knew_ it—and he actively fought the rising urge to swing the book at Freddie’s head.

“It doesn’t need explaining.” Hannibal folded his fingers in his lap and sat back as though they were in his office. Freddie looked about ready to bolt. “Miss Lounds painted a clear enough picture.”

Will almost dropped the book into his plate. He didn’t want Hannibal to be right. He didn’t want Freddie to be so stupid. But he held on, nails digging into the fine paper until it tore.

When he did nothing Hannibal continued on, his words a bucket of ice.

“Chilton is dead. But before his death he published another book, a far cry from his usual works. Not because it was any better or any worse, but because its writer was clearly someone else. Someone who makes a living profiting off the stories of the dead and their demented dealers. It is astounding how one’s bitter version of the truth can erode the real truth.”

“How do you know this?” Will asked as calmly as he could, eyes lowered and unseeing.

“You never did get to give Freddie the story she wanted. So I assume when we didn’t return for her she took it in good faith that we were dead, and she ran with what she had. She wrote about Abigail, Will. She wrote about all of us as the _Murder Family_ , using Chilton’s name. We can’t very well go back and murder a dead man, can we?”

Will was shaking his head now, eyes turning to bore into Freddie’s. She had tears in hers (Fear? Shame? Regret? A combination?), and Hannibal smiled unkindly.

“Are you going to lie again, Miss Lounds? Deny your work? It must’ve taken great self-restraint not to scribble your name, or at least an alias in the fine print like a boastful teenager.”

“How do you know it’s hers?” Will asked, pushing his plate forward so to slam the book in its place. 

“Being modest, I was possibly the most faithful reader of Tattle.com. Besides the obvious lack of focus on the psychology of us as individual psychopaths in favour of perceived relationships and motives, I think it would be impossible for me not to recognise her writing. Written with so much conviction you could believe anything it said, unlike Chilton, on the other hand. I must commend you for that, Miss Lounds. But you should’ve chosen another to hide behind.”

The praise was genuine, Hannibal wasn’t shy to admire another person’s ill-meaning doings, but it wasn’t given for her benefit. Not in the least.

“You weren’t entirely wrong,” Hannibal continued to Freddie with a rare glimmer of public amusement across his face, though it was tainted with disgruntlemnt, “As a matter of fact you were right more often than not in your ramblings about me. But you forget, _Will_ is not a psychopath.” He paused to look at Will as if his testament could be proven by Will’s mere expression—a contradiction judging by his twisting features. 

“He’s not like me. And he is certainly not without morality. I see it in him everyday, a battle to stay afloat as the depths of our mixed desires pull against the rippling surface. There is a great part of Will that will hate me forever for taking Abigail. I see that everyday too. So how do you think he who could love one as heinous as I would feel about dear Abigail’s name being dragged through the dirt, partial to the tale of two depraved cannibalistic psychopaths?”

Fat tears ran down Freddie’s cheeks, her chest rising and falling audibly as the panic rose exponentially. Fight or flight, it was around the corner, and Will couldn’t grasp a strong enough reason not to be waiting around that corner. All he could see was red.

“I always did envision you striped out for jerky.” Hannibal said, getting back to his meal. “Abigail agreed.”

Freddie shot up, jostling half of the table’s contents as she pushed off like an arrow.

Will was a second behind her. He overturned the entire table in a snap of rage with a gigantic echoing crash that left Hannibal sitting with his fork in his mouth, hand on his thigh and a cheerful tap in his foot.

 

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**


End file.
